Road-Kill Kibuki

So, Monday evening, I'm driving home on the two lane state highway which I take from the town of 2500 souls where I hold forth during my day job. As it happened, I was driving behind one of law partners who happens to live in the same direction as I when, seemingly a propos of nothing, his brake lights come on. Given that it's November, it's firearm deer season in Missouri this week, and the location in quo is a rather notorious white-tail migration route, especially when they're being chased by guys with lever action 30-30s, I quickly followed suit, to observe the inevitable pair of deer bounding across the road. As it happens, this was not the first such occurrence for me.

A few years ago, I was headed home in my truck after dark when I spied an orange yellow glow off to my right in the tree line of Eastern Red Cedar. I've driven the back roads of Missouri enough to know what that meant, and sure enough, I managed to stop before the two deer, which I've been told always travel in pairs, strolled on their merry way. When I was sure they'd gone, I accelerated, keeping a sharp eye to see if there were any trailers.

Unfortunately, I wasn't looking on the left side of the road, from whence came another good sized doe in the opposite direction right in front of my truck. Alas, my attempts to avoid a collision were for naught, as I took out the deer's rear end with my right front grill at about 25 MPH, an impact which broke my headlight but did significantly more damage to the deer.

Now I was faced with a conundrum. My victim was lying on the shoulder, obviously not ambulatory, a condition which was not going to improve any time soon. I didn't want to leave the poor beast like that, but putting it out of it's misery was not the best option as I happened to be wearing charcoal gray suit and the all-purpose Victorinox Swiss Army Knife I keep in the glove box would've afforded me a more intimate experience with a coup de grace, than I was prepared for at that precise moment. Fortunately, fate intervened in the form of a 4X4 F-250 Ford, circa 1972, occupied by a couple of my fellow citizens.

The F-250 pulled to the shoulder with it's lights illuminating my, as yet still breathing trophy. The occupants exited the cab, Busch tall boys in hand, it being almost the weekend, i.e. Tuesday night, and approached. Together we observed the scene for a few moments before the silence was broken.

Them: J'a hit it?

Me: Yep.

A minute more of silence followed, before:

Them: Ya gonna keep it?

Me: Nope.

At this point, I should note for my occasional European readers and those more familiar with urban environments, the above two lines of dialogue constitute the epitome of rural Missouri etiquette and bespeak a fine upbringing for my companions. That is, the rule of "To him who hits the road kill go the spoils," is a rule which shall remain inviolate. Given that I had given them my imprimatur to toss the thing into the bed of their truck, we could move to the denouement of this tale.

Specifically, one of the two went to the back of the truck and returned holding a third tall boy, which he graciously offered your humble correspondent, again, in discharge of the unwritten rules of conduct here in The Hinterland, i.e. don't take another man's road kill without handing him a beer first. Naturally, I accepted, because that's what you do. By this time, I could see that they were now in somewhat of a hurry, either to get to their discussion group on Ovid's minor poetry, or because they didn't wish to be seen by a curious state trooper or sheriff's deputy with an untagged deer carcass in their truck nestled in a case or so of empty beer cans. Thus, I bade them a good evening and took my leave. Good thing, too, as I missed the third act, which involved a very large lock blade knife that was making it's appearance as I was leaving.

Suffice it to say, I made it home, where I enjoyed the beer. I got my headlight fixed and all was well. I've not hit a deer since, though if I do, I'm sure there will be somebody close by with a cooler of beer, a pick-up and buck knife willing to come to the rescue.

Unless, of course, I have a craving for venison.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Thrill Seekers

Long-time readers may recall this post from a couple of years back, in which I mentioned inter alia one Dean Potter, an "adventurer" who had decided to climb Delicate Arch in Arches Natural Park, thereby destroying climbing opportunities for the rest of us. As I mentioned at the time:

What bothers me each time I take one of these trips into the wild, however, is the utter lack of respect some people have for the wonders of God's creation. Part of it stems from ignorance or stupidity; part from a lack of reverence or appreciation for what one is seeing.

Apparently, Mr. Potter is still at it, albeit in a different venue, to wit, Switzerland. (H/T Neatorama.)

Frankly, I'm surprised that National Geographic, an organization which prides itself on its environmental consciousness, would elevate Mr. Potter to the status of hero. I for one find little to admire in someone who merely chases after adrenalin rushes in various corners of the world. Such people seem to miss the point of being in nature. Yes, of course, there are times when our encounters with the wild can elevate the heart rate.

But that's not what's important, it seems to me. It's the seeing with our own eyes and the appreciation of what's there such that we can work to preserve it for others. It's learning about one's self in a way that doesn't come from merely checking some achievement off a list before moving on to the "next big thing."

Oh well, maybe I am a crotchety old fart, after all.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Remember

Via ESPN comes a story for Veterans Day:

Deon Taylor, whom I first wrote about on Page 2 a year ago, was an undercover narcotics officer for the New York Police Department. He also was a member of the New York National Guard, serving in Afghanistan. He was killed on Oct. 22, 2008, when the Humvee he was riding in was destroyed by a roadside bomb.

[Snip]

[H]e was actually filling in for a friend when he was riding in that Humvee. That friend, a platoon-mate, wanted to fly home to the U.S. to attend the funeral of his own cousin, who'd been killed in the war. Deon volunteered to take his place.

Or consider a random selection (with my emphasis) from the U.S. Army's Center of Military History's complete listing of Medal of Honor Recipients:

BAKER, THOMAS A.

Rank and organization: Sergeant, U.S. Army, Company A, 105th Infantry, 27th Infantry Division. Place and date: Saipan, Mariana Islands, 19 June to 7 July 1944. Entered service at: Troy, N.Y. Birth: Troy, N.Y. G.O. No.: 35, 9 May 1945. Citation: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty at Saipan, Mariana Islands, 19 June to 7 July 1944. When his entire company was held up by fire from automatic weapons and small-arms fire from strongly fortified enemy positions that commanded the view of the company, Sgt. (then Pvt.) Baker voluntarily took a bazooka and dashed alone to within 100 yards of the enemy. Through heavy rifle and machine gun fire that was directed at him by the enemy, he knocked out the strong point, enabling his company to assault the ridge. Some days later while his company advanced across the open field flanked with obstructions and places of concealment for the enemy, Sgt. Baker again voluntarily took up a position in the rear to protect the company against surprise attack and came upon 2 heavily fortified enemy pockets manned by 2 officers and 10 enlisted men which had been bypassed. Without regard for such superior numbers, he unhesitatingly attacked and killed all of them. Five hundred yards farther, he discovered 6 men of the enemy who had concealed themselves behind our lines and destroyed all of them. On 7 July 1944, the perimeter of which Sgt. Baker was a part was attacked from 3 sides by from 3,000 to 5,000 Japanese. During the early stages of this attack, Sgt. Baker was seriously wounded but he insisted on remaining in the line and fired at the enemy at ranges sometimes as close as 5 yards until his ammunition ran out. Without ammunition and with his own weapon battered to uselessness from hand-to-hand combat, he was carried about 50 yards to the rear by a comrade, who was then himself wounded. At this point Sgt. Baker refused to be moved any farther stating that he preferred to be left to die rather than risk the lives of any more of his friends. A short time later, at his request, he was placed in a sitting position against a small tree. Another comrade, withdrawing, offered assistance. Sgt. Baker refused, insisting that he be left alone and be given a soldier's pistol with its remaining 8 rounds of ammunition. When last seen alive, Sgt. Baker was propped against a tree, pistol in hand, calmly facing the foe. Later Sgt. Baker's body was found in the same position, gun empty, with 8 Japanese lying dead before him. His deeds were in keeping with the highest traditions of the U.S. Army.

For those readers/visitors to these who have served our country, thank you. If you know a veteran, thank him or her.

And always remember.

R. Sherman

"Kurt, d' Mauer ist auf!"*--A Memory

Further to part of yesterday's post, comes now Paul Hollander, in an editorial published November 2, 2009 in The Washington Post (H/T Volokh) writes:

The Berlin Wall that came down 20 years ago this month was an apt symbol of communism. It represented a historically unprecedented effort to prevent people from "voting with their feet" and leaving a society they rejected.

[Snip]

Soviet communism collapsed for many reasons, including the economic inefficiency that resulted in chronic shortages of food and consumer goods, and pervasive and mendacious propaganda, which amounted to the routine misrepresentation of reality highlighting the gap between theory and practice, and promise and fulfillment.

[Snip]

The failure of Soviet communism confirms that humans motivated by lofty ideals are capable of inflicting great suffering with a clear conscience. But communism's collapse also suggests that under certain conditions people can tell the difference between right and wrong. The embrace and rejection of communism correspond to the spectrum of attitudes ranging from deluded and destructive idealism to the realization that human nature precludes utopian social arrangements and that the careful balancing of ends and means is the essential precondition of creating and preserving a decent society.

I was aware that during this month, we would mark the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. I knew it was the 9th, but as is my wont, I became distracted by other things this weekend, only to be reminded yesterday during my morning internet surfing.

It's hard to believe that are people who have no recollection of the existence of the Iron Curtain, a metaphor brought into existence during a speech by Winston Churchill at an otherwise nondescript liberal arts college in Fulton, Missouri. It some respects, I think that those of the younger generation, like my kids or my German nephew and niece, are perhaps the worse for it.

People forget how stunning, indeed unanticipated the opening of the Wall was. For those of us with long memories, we recall that Hungary opened it's border first, which caused a massive number of East Germans to decide to take a holiday to Budapest, following which they crossed the border to Austria and thence, to Germany. The East German government began being pressured to allow visits to the West and on this evening, 20 years ago, at about 5:00 PM, a spokesman stated that the borders would be open.

No one believed him.

After three hours or so, the first timid souls approached and were allowed through the checkpoints. Within minutes, it became a flood. By midnight, people were dancing on top of the wall and by morning the Iron Curtain was gone.

It's amazing how fast the idea of freedom takes hold. The EMBLOS mentioned last night, that the whole thing unfolded on television in Germany. In West Berlin an elderly woman said to her husband, *"Kurt, the Wall is open!" His response: "You're crazy."

As for my own memory, in 1985, I flew to Germany during the Christmas holiday to meet the EMBLOS' family for the first time. Among other activities (Do read the last link, even if you butt the rest of this post), I accompanied the EMBLOS and my future father-in-law on a day trip to Prague, the capital of what was then communist Czechoslovakia. Let me suggest, dear reader, that that single excursion disabused me forever of any sympathies I might have toward collective utopias established by governmental fiat, under circumstances where those governed are repressed in the name of the commonweal.

I should note here, that the Official In-Laws To Be had a weekend condo a few kilometers from the Czech border. We'd payed a couple of visits to the border for purposes of skiing at a little town called "Bayerisch Eisenstein," one of those obligingly quaint and picturesque towns that dot the Bavarian countryside. There, we'd skied on a slope which literally abutted the border, which was marked on the German side with blue and white barber poles and a split-rail fence. We'd also gone into town for lunch and visited the local train station, which, due to the boundary adjustments made following World War Two, was divided in half by the border. A more recent view of same is here:

Note the sign, "Staatgrenze" and the blue and white pole.
The photographer is in Germany.
The person in the center is standing in the Czech Republic.
Note also, the absence of people with guns.

When I visited, that area was completely walled up.

Anyway, a day or so later, we crossed the border on a German tour bus and made our way to Prague. Immediately across the border there was a delay as the bus had to be emptied and searched, the totalitarian functionaries conducting a complete inventory lest we be secretly smuggling Levis jeans or copies of the Declaration of Independence.

Following that, we were ushered into a building where we were required to exchange one hundred, perfectly good German marks for it's nominal equivalent in Czech Crowns, which were suitable for lining bird cages, inasmuch as there was nothing to buy where we were headed and the Czechs wouldn't allow you to change the money back into German currency when you left.

Then, finally, mercifully, we were on the way to Prague.

Perhaps it was the fact that it was a gloomy day, but as we walked around the old city accompanied by the obligatory governmental handlers, I couldn't help but notice the ubiquitous cameras at every intersection, panning the crowds. Perhaps that's why no one smiled, even though it was the holiday season. As we would walk, people would brush past us and whisper "Geld wechseln?" One, who either had a very good eye or was one of the secret police about which we'd been warned in advance, asked me the previous question in English: "Change money?"

Otherwise, Prague is an interesting city and were it not for the fact that I was constantly on guard against doing something which would cause me to run afoul of the secret police which we had been assured would be tailing our group, I would have enjoyed it.

The real fun, however, came when we attempted to leave the country late that night. As we approached the border near the town of Železná Ruda, the checkpoints became more frequent and the inspections more intrusive, until we finally rounded a bend to be illuminated in what seemed to be thousands of spotlights. There, in front of us was a massive steel barricade blocking the road which I doubt even a tank could breach. No danger of anyone crashing through the border in an attempt to reach freedom.

Anyway, we were ordered off the bus, without our coats and told to stand on a platform while, yet again, a complete search of the bus and contents, including our personal effects was conducted.

A Czech soldier armed with the obligatory AK-47 and surly demeanor confiscated our passports and disappeared for half and hour while we waited in twenty degree cold. When he reappeared, he began to call the names of the tourists, handing each his/her passport in turn and allowing them back onto the bus.

I should note, in 1985, West German passports were green. American passports were navy blue as they've been for a some time. Given that I was the only American citizen on this little excursion, my passport was easily visible in the pile of about 40 or so the soldier was holding.

The soldier came to my passport about a third of the way through and studied for a moment before putting it back into the stack. Again it rose to the top and more people were allowed on the bus, and again, he stuck it back in the stack. One more time this occurred, until your humble correspondent was the lone person on the platform. The soldier, yet again, studied for a few moments before saying in very precise, if accented English:

"Meeester Sheermaan."

Then, he proceeded to look around the platform for fifteen seconds or so, as if there might be another R. Sherman somewhere. I tentatively raised my hand. He stared me in the eye for a few seconds before flipping my passport at me, which hit me in the chest and fell to the ground, necessitating that I bend over to pick it up. I'm not ashamed to say, that as I did so, the thought of having a rifle butt smack me in the head crossed my mind.

Of course that didn't happen, but when I stood up to get on the bus, I noticed that the border guard was smiling, and it wasn't one of those "thanks for visiting and come back soon" sort of smiles, but one of the most malevolent expressions I've ever seen. Suffice it to say, I vowed never to return behind the Iron Curtain as long as it existed.*

Perhaps the above experience is why I've been rather cranky lately about the increasing government encroachment on our personal autonomy on numerous fronts.

I've seen what the end result looks like. It most definitely made an impression.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Pre-publishing Update: Germany's left-of-center news magazine Der Spiegel notes our President's participation in the commemoration events, as does the U.K.'s right-of-center Telegraph.

----------

*I went back in 1990, post Iron Curtain, and skied at a mountain called Špicák, near where I'd crossed the border. All the roadblocks and such from 1985 at that particular crossing point were gone and both the egress and ingress from/to Germany was accomplished with an official, perfunctory wave of the hand from the smiling Czech border guard, who, by the way, was unarmed, this time.

Further, it was a much nicer smile, so I refrained from giving him an earful.

The only downside was that the ski area still hadn't replaced the communist era tow-lift, which consisted of a fish-hook type seating arrangement which one had to straddle in order to ride to the top. Further the machinery involved was prone to numerous starts and stops which, in turn, caused the bar I was straddling to jerk upwards with frightening force, as I later explained to the EMBLOS, when she inquired about my newfound ability to hit notes in the soprano range. I called it "Gorbachev's Revenge." (Why Ronald Reagan didn't add the words, "and get some decent ski lifts" to his "Tear Down This Wall" speech is not clear to me.) Thank the ski gods, by 1991, the Czechs had finally thrown off the last vestiges of communism and obtained Austrian T-bar lifts which are much easier on the anatomy. --RDS

The Flesh Pots Of Egypt

2And the whole congregation of the children of Israel murmured against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness:

3And the children of Israel said unto them, Would to God we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the flesh pots, and when we did eat bread to the full; for ye have brought us forth into this wilderness, to kill this whole assembly with hunger.

4Then said the LORD unto Moses, Behold, I will rain bread from heaven for you; and the people shall go out and gather a certain rate every day, that I may prove them, whether they will walk in my law, or no.--Exodus 16:2-4, (KJV)

Those of us with a passing acquaintance with Sunday school, undoubtedly recall the above passage from the Old Testament. For context, consider: Moses had appeared at God's calling to announce the liberation of the Jewish Nation from the tyranny of Egyptian slavery. In doing so, God had performed miracle after miracle. He had protected his people from the pestilence which plagued the Egyptians because of Pharaoh's obstinacy. He had led them forth with a pillar of fire and parted the Red Sea to allow them to escape. He had destroyed the army of their enemies.

And each of these things, they had seen with their own eyes.

Their response: Complaints coupled with a nostalgia for the security of bondage.

The above came to mind this weekend as I read commentary about a number of different current events.

Believe it or not, I'm tired of talking about health care. The numbers do not, will not and cannot add up . (If you click on no other link in this post, click the last one. I defy anyone who's ever worked for a living and paid a bill to do so without throwing up.) Yet people would gladly, cheerfully, sell their souls for some promise from Washington worthies that they will "get something for nothing" without realizing that Washington produces nothing but words and accumulates nothing but our money and freedom.

The information is out there. If I may be forgiven for waxing biblical again, then "who hath ears to hear, let him hear."

Were the above not enough, comes now one Lee Siegel and opines:

It’s time to start asking ourselves whether our famous American freedom—in both its liberal and conservative formulations—is not actually a subtle form of dehumanizing tyranny.

If I, graduate of a lowly land grant university, might be so bold to inquire, "as opposed to what, precisely, Lee? The dehumanizing tyranny that I've seen in other less fortunate areas of the world? Perhaps you'd prefer to live like those poor souls I met in Prague in 1985 who surreptitiously tried to buy American dollars or German marks from me because their money was worth nothing? Perhaps you mean the dehumanizing tyranny of walking around constantly fearful of the police taking you away because you had the audacity to speak to a foreigner?"

Speaking of written drivel pertaining to life behind the Iron Curtain, we have one Bruni de la Motte in The Guardian asserting that, "Gee whiz, those East Germans sure did lose a lot when the Berlin Wall fell twenty years ago."

True enough. Stuff like being spied on constantly or, you know, dying at the hands of the government, because you preferred to live west of the Elbe.

I swear, I never thought I'd ever wake up and read such philosophically bereft offal in my life. Has the light of personal autonomy, liberty and responsibility completely been extinguished in our minds and thoughts? Are we so forgetful of the glories of our freedoms, won at such a high cost for so many, that we'd gladly trade them for the flesh pots of a promised but never-to-be delivered security?

I can only hope that some of our children remember.

R. Sherman

Of Good & God In Society

Via a post at Neatorama a week or so ago, I became aware of the book Society without God: What the Least Religious Nations Can Tell Us About Contentment. I've not read it, nor do I intend to for reasons expressed infra. Perusing the reviews and comments, I discern that the author looked at Scandinavian societies which are nominally "Christian" countries, but with little actual religious practice and determined that religion is not necessary for a well-functioning, moral interaction among the society's citizens. Apparently, the author, Phil Zuckerman, sought to disprove the belief of so-called Christian conservatives that,"godless societies devolve into lawlessness and immorality," because, "Denmark and Sweden enjoy strong economies, low crime rates, high standards of living and social equality."

So stipulated.

So what?

It seems to me that the argument that "Man cannot be 'good' without God" is indeed specious at best. One doesn't need to be an astute observer of one's fellow humans to realize such an assertion is false. Speaking as one who's been a member of various and sundry conservative Christian denominations over the course of my half-century on the planet, I can honestly say I've never heard any of my coreligionists maintain any such thing.

In truth, it's not a question of whether Man can be good without God, but rather, whether he can be good enough. We protestants maintain that there is no such thing as "good enough," no matter how moral we might be. Therefore, we are all in need of God's mercy, which is freely given if we only ask.

I think the real question or difference between those who believe in a deity and those who do not concerns the origin of morality, rather than whether humans can, in fact, behave morally. Stated differently, is morality transcendent, existing outside and independent of human society, or is it merely the result of some social contract? It is the answer to that question which determines one's view of the world, methinks.

Frankly, the vast, vast majority of humanity have the ability and desire to behave "morally," regardless of morality's origin. The real interesting issue concerns what happens when that social contract breaks down, when correct behavior is determined by a group or an individual whose sole concern is asserting power over others?

Have a good weekend, all.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Minueting With Minions: A Cautionary Tale

Further to yesterday's rant, I offer the following for your consideration.

If the government takes over the delivery of health care commodities, from drugs, to medical appliances, to surgical stays and MRIs, we will of course be relying upon a brand new bureaucracy for the administration of these services. This bureaucracy, of course, will be staffed by well-meaning individuals who will be charged with reading, understanding, interpreting and applying the tens of thousands of pages of regulations which will spring forth from said bureaucracy's own sancta, much as mold magically appears on a damp basement wall. Lest we take comfort in that thought, allow me to relate a recent experience from my professional existence.

Let us posit a federal bureaucracy charged with regulating certain aspects of the public's behavior. Let us further posit a situation where, thanks to an individual with a vendetta, said bureaucracy took an interest in the behaviors of one of your humble correspondent's clients, which resulted in the issuance of a summary four figure fine. And my summary, I mean no trial or anything just an order to "cough up the cash," so to speak.

Alas, there was one problem. Lo, in the very legislation authorizing the establishment of said bureaucracy, was a specific exemption for my client. In point of fact, the legislation clearly stated that the agency in quo had absolutely no jurisdiction over said client. Stated differently, the agency had no statutory, legal power to tell my client what s/he/it could or could not do.

Easy to deal with, right? Just write a friendly letter and point out that a) the legislation --copy attached with applicable language highlighted-- says the agency can't fine my client and b) the agency's own web site acknowledges it has no jurisdiction. A simple misunderstanding which will be corrected with the withdrawal of the fine and a letter of apology, non?

Uh, non.

See, the agency bureaucrat responsible said that s/he didn't understand that stuff and consequently, the fine would stay until I filed a demand for a trial, which of course, I did and which, of course ultimately resulted in a win for your humble correspondent.

"So, no harm, no foul," say you.

True enough, I suppose, but the cost to my client to correct a wrong perpetrated by the bureaucracy was substantial and it has no way to recoup said costs from the government. Picture flushing several fistfuls of hundred dollar bills down a toilet and you get the picture.

Consider also, what happens when the victim of such improper behavior is someone without the wherewithal to consult or hire a lawyer?

Lest you think this is a rare occurrence, off the top of my head I can remember at least two dozen such incidents over the course of my career, some of which are worse than the story above, including one where the cost of obtaining justice exceeded the cost of submitting improperly to a federal mandate by a factor of five.

Now, consider if the agency employee mentioned above is in charge of understanding those regulations mentioned supra for purposes of deciding whether you get that coronary bypass.

On that cheery note, I bid you

Cheers.

R. Sherman

A Rant Seasoned With A Few Links . . .

(Author's Note: I wrote this very early after finishing page 700 of Congress' health-care opus. Suffice to say, I was very cranky, and thus, the tone of this piece is perhaps more strident than it might've been had I been less tired. Forewarned is forearmed. Please feel free to ignore this.--RDS)


. . .a propos it would seem, given that the House Of Representatives is "considering" the 1990 page abomination to assume control of one-sixth of our economy, preparatory to a vote this week. Note the deliberate use of quotation marks around the word "considering" in the previous sentence. I defy anyone to believe that our esteemed representatives have spent their weekend reading the thing. If so, that would mean that, assuming one is a fast reader, i.e. one page per minute or so, it would take over thirty-three hours just get through it once. For my money, any representative who casts a "yes" vote on this bill without having read the whole thing should be immediately impeached, tarred, feathered and run out of town on rail.

And don't get me started on such quaint ideas as public hearings where the nuances of these things can be discussed in the brilliant sunlight of transparency. Heaven forbid the hoi polloi should be allowed to actually know what our philosopher kings and queens are up to. It's all for our benefit, you understand, so shut up, you ignorant peasants.

In the interest of full disclosure, let me say I tend toward a more libertarian view of the world. Yes, I have certain strongly held beliefs about human behavior and human deportment. Of course, I believe I'm right.

Duh.

By the same token, I think that our original idea of self-governance was the best. That is, quite simply, that we let each person pursue his/her own idea of what happiness is and let the chips fall where they may. Or, more simply:

I don't care what you do. I don't care what you believe. I don't care how you choose to live your life.

Period.

All I wish, is that that the busybodies stay out of my life. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself and my family and quite frankly, I've done a fairly decent job of it so far. If you cannot or will not, merely because you fear leaving, metaphorically, your parents' basement, then fine. At least accept the responsibility for your own actions. Don't ask me to work my butt off to pay for your indolence.

Being a grown-up is hard, by golly. It requires hard work. It requires stepping off into the unknown. It requires reaching deep inside oneself to find those things, those internal strengths, necessary to live in this very unforgiving world.

So be it.

I'm so tired of being treated as a child which doesn't or can't take of myself. I am so tired of listening to some power mad worthy pontificating between intern gropes, about how the masses don't know poop from shinola about whatever issue is being discussed.

These clowns are not interested in us. They hate --let me emphasize the word "hate"-- us and our democracy, or ability to vote and have our say. They think they're better than us. That if we'd just sit quietly, they'd turn the world into Eden in short order.

Newsflash: They're not better or smarter than us. They just have fancier suits and more expensive haircuts. I've seen too many of these clowns drunk and pawing over coeds to believe otherwise.

And yes, though I'm not a famous, nor nominally well-connected person, I know where a few metaphorical bodies are buried, thank you.

From both parties.

Anyway, for your amusement:

Item: Another reason we, the people, need not shine too bright a light on this brave new health care world planned for us: It's been tried already in this country and it doesn't work.

Item: The statistic that's always thrown up about the cost of health care being disproportionate to favorable outcomes? It's a lie. It is based upon World Health Care definitions which are biased in favor of countries which don't spend as much. Read the link and the links within. See also, this.

Item: And for those who believe that the government will somehow be able to clean up waste and fraud once our health care is within its all-encompassing grasp, via Sixty Minutes a week ago comes the answer:

Nope.

Item: One of the politicians of the Clinton Era I always liked was/is Robert Reich, the former Secretary of Labor. Though I disagreed with him most of the time, I believe he is an extraordinarily honest man, who doesn't camouflage the meaning of what he says. What you hear, is what you get.

Case in Point.

Item: Yes, I speak as a capitalist and an employer/small business owner who works on average SIXTY HOURS PER SEVEN DAY WEEK and who doesn't see a dime until every one of my employees is paid: we see that when push comes to shove, it is only the most productive members of society who get to pay the bills, thereby creating a perverse disincentive for us to, in fact, produce.

Item: Or to create or retain jobs (my emphasis):

The bill defines which businesses are subject to the health care tax based upon the dollar amount of employee payroll. There even is a sliding scale right in the bill (section 501, at page 276) which tops out at 8% for businesses with $750,000 of annual payroll. Annual payroll is defined as the "aggregate wages" paid by the employer.

This provision creates incentives for businesses to keep down payroll. One way would be not to hire anyone whose compensation would fall under the definition of payroll under the bill.

In other words, outsource whatever you can. Hire a software engineer in India, or ship manufacturing to China, or structure your business in such a way that you send 1099s not W-2s to the people who work for you (and hire an accountant and tax lawyer to navigate IRS rules on independent contractors).

The message of the bill is that whatever you do, if you want to grow your business without paying the health care tax, do not add employees.

[Snip]

This is exactly what you would expect from someone who always has been on the receiving end of wages, and never had to meet a payroll. Wages are not profits and have nothing to do with the success of a business. Just ask the auto companies.

I don't think Obama and the other Democrats are lying about this aspect of the health care tax. They truly do not understand how the private economy works. In their blissful ignorance they are designing job-killings provisions which they do not understand.

At least, we hope it's merely a lack of understanding.

And trust me. The above has already been discussed in my circle.

Item: BTW, don't count on the "stimulus" for job creation.

Item: But at least we'll rein in the evil, money grubbing, profit hungry insurance companies, right? At least the pols haven't been overstating how bad those guys are, right?

Item: Well, there's hope in the Senate's incarnation of this brave new health care world/cage/prison they want to stick us in.

Absolutely, if you believe in disincentives and further increasing the zillion dollar deficit, thereby making all of our hard earned money worth less than the sludge I had pumped out of my septic tank last week.

Item: That's if they don't take all our money first (my emphasis):

Senate Democrats are also erecting new barriers to middle-class ascent. A family of four making $54,000 would pay $4,800 for health insurance, with the remainder coming from subsidies. If they work harder and raise their income to $66,000, their cost of insurance rises by $2,800. In other words, earning another $12,000 raises their bill by $2,800—a marginal tax rate of 23%. Double-digit increases in effective tax rates will have detrimental effects on the incentives of millions of Americans.

Item: And everyone will pay, especially those who can least afford it.

Comment/Rant: In truth, this debacle is most definitely not about securing the health of this nation's citizens. Rather it is about assuming control of our lives, minimizing or eliminating our personal autonomy so that politicians can take more of our money and hand it over to they're friends and relatives, in order to maintain their death grip on power, such that we ordinary citizens will be reduced to begging for the scraps and crumbs of our own labors beneath the banquet tables of tyrants.

One would hope, the worthies in Washington know that some of us remember our history.



My, that felt liberating. I feel better now, so

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Five Syllables In Search Of An Haiku 8 -- Joe Walsh Edition

Or:


Yet Another Post Inspired By An Episode Of Nostalgia Which Occurred While Listening To Our Local "Classic Rock" Station -- Which Is Never To Be Referred To As "That 'Oldies' Station" In My Presence Ever Again Or I Swear I Will Strike Every Reference To You From The Official Estate Plan, Much Like Pharaoh Seti Does To Charleton Heston's "Moses" In Cecile B. DeMille's Epic The Ten Commandments And Yes, OES, I'm Talking To You -- Which Nostalgia Caused Me To Play Air Guitar And Attempt To Mimic Singing With A Voice Box, All In Front Of The OES And One Of His Friends, To His Everlasting Horror, Which In Retrospect May Be Punishment Enough For the "Oldies" Remark Mentioned supra:


Rocky Mountain Way.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Junk

I remain swamped, but for your pleasure, here's somebody who should be hoisted upon the public's shoulders and carried, forcibly if necessary, to the pinnacle of political power:

A truer explication of the legislative process, regardless of which party is in charge or which ideology holds sway at any given moment, you'll never hear.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

600 Posts

I happened to sign on this morning, intending merely to insert a placeholder here in order to mention that I've got a hellish two weeks on tap. Consequently, posting will be sporadic, unless the "continuance/settlement" gods should decide to appear on a rope in the middle of my trial prep. However, according to Blogger Dashboard, this is the 600th published post on these pages in the almost five years I've been occupied with this little diversion. To all who've visited and commented, thank you. It's been fun. Please occupy yourselves with the archives for the next couple of weeks until I return.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

The Need For Literature

To my entry of Monday regarding the Nobel Prize for Literature, my friend Will comments:

Quite frankly, in this day and age, I'm kind of surprised this category [Literature] still exists. Literature is such a small part of a much vaster Arts category, from which many more choices could be made available.

I suppose the easy answer is that Alfred Nobel's will says so and doesn't endow prizes in cinema, drama, visual arts or music, whether or not those media are valid or beneficial aesthetically to Humankind. Nonetheless, the question remains, in this era of numerous means of artistic expression, is literature even important? Does the smorgasbord of choices we have, combined with the frenetic pace of our lives, minimize or eliminate the necessity/benefits of pondering over the written word generally, and fiction specifically?

Discuss.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Non sibi sed patriae

The Bonhomme Richard

Happy Birthday, United States Navy!

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Insular & Isolated Redux

Regular readers will recall this post from around this time last year regarding remarks made by one Horace Engdahl of the Nobel Prize committee concerning the "isolated and insular" nature of American literature. As I pointed out previously, Mr. Engdahl stated:

There is powerful literature in all big cultures, but you can't get away from the fact that Europe still is the centre of the literary world ... not the United States," he told the Associated Press. "The US is too isolated, too insular. They don't translate enough and don't really participate in the big dialogue of literature ...That ignorance is restraining.

Obviously, the implication is that those authors whose work is honored by the Nobel jury, will not demonstrate these failings, non? So, who gets the Nobel cookie for literary achievement this year?

Behold, Herta Müller, whose name is, of course, a household word among literature buffs, much like "Albert Pujols" defines "excellence" in the lexicon of baseball fans. [European readers may wish to insert the name, ""Cristiano Ronaldo" for Albert and "football" for baseball.] Indeed, quoth The Guardian:

Praised by the Nobel judges for depicting the "landscape of the dispossessed" with "the concentration of poetry and the frankness of prose", Müller returns constantly to the oppression, dictatorship and exile of her own life in her novels, essays and poems. (Emphasis mine)

Nothin' "insular or isolated" 'bout that, to wit, the life of Herta Müller, no sir-eee, Bob.

Anyway, I, hillbilly piker that I am, confess to scratching my head when I heard Ms. Müller's name announced. I failed to remember her name being included on my M.A. reading list. I further confess to feeling bad about it, inasmuch as I spent a good chunk of my life immersed in German lit classes, although, in fairness, I did that primarily so that I could wear cardigan sweaters and a Van Dyke, while chatting up undergraduate coeds. Further, it was easy enough to pontificate my way to a decent GPA through the miasma of various and sundry hangovers. For enlightenment, I turn again to The Guardian:

Born in Romania in 1953, Müller refused to cooperate with Ceausescu's Securitate, lost her job as a teacher and was the subject of repeated threats until she emigrated in 1987. She now lives in Berlin, where she has been the recipient of a multitude of literary awards, including Germany's most prestigious, the Kleist prize, the Frankz Kafka and the 100,000 euro (£85,000) Impac award for Hertzier. The story of five young Romanians living under Ceausescu's dictatorship, Müller has said that she wrote it "in memory of my Romanian friends who were killed under the Ceausescu regime", and that she "felt it was my duty". The New York Times called it "a novel of graphically observed detail in which the author seeks to create a sort of poetry out of the spiritual and material ugliness of life in Communist Romania".

OK, it sounds as though Ms. Müller has had an interesting life and racked up a decent wall of awards for her writing. Yet, it appears as though she didn't start publishing anything until the late eighties, which, in my defense was after I'd jettisoned the purity of pursuing literary criticism in favor of the sophistry of the practice of law. Thus, I take no particular umbrage at the Nobel jury's selection, though I steadfastly remain in the "Phillip Roth-Deserves-The-Bloody-Thing Camp." Actually, this year's award intrigues me and causes me to want to acquire a few of Ms. Müller's works. I think I'll probably enjoy them.

But I note the following, also from The Guardian with my emphasis, which demonstrates to me how full of crap the Nobel jury really is. Behold the words of the worthy, one Peter Englund, permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy:

He [Englund] advised readers new to Muller to start with her novel Herztier (published in English as The Land of Green Plums), which he said many considered to be her best novel. Her latest novel, Atemschaukel (Everything I Possess I Carry With Me), was "absolutely breathtaking," he added.

Yo, Pete. Atemschaukel in German can be translated loosely as "breathtaking," you moron.

For his next trick, Englund will describe Günter Grass' work Im Krebsgang as, "a real crab-walk."

Idiot.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Related, if you haven't seen it before.

This Is The Kid Who Cannot Get From The Car To The Front Door

I actually mentioned to her that my soon-to-be eighty year old mother who drives herself around town is able to navigate the sidewalk and steps to her house without falling over. Drunks are able to do that. But no, the eighteen year old pole vaulter has to take a dive and fall in such a way that her clavicle, bearing all her weight, hits the corner between the concrete sidewalk and the lawn.

It's time to re-read The Book Of Job.

While I do that, here are her senior pictures, which obviously temper my annoyance somewhat.

I guess, "Sit Up Straight And Smile" Is No Longer In Vogue.

I Asked Her If She Has A Country Album Coming Out Of Which I Am Unaware.

Um, Didn't You Spend Something Like Six Hours On Your Hair Before This Photo Session?

Finally, Something Relatively Traditional I Can Send To The Grandmothers.

For all the frustration being a parent can bring, sometimes, especially when I look at photos like the ones above, I find myself stopping and contemplating all the years such photos encapsulate together with the future they imply. At such times, a single tear will find its way to the corner of my eye as I ask myself the following question:

"How much is this costing me?"

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Related.

Five Syllables In Search Of An Haiku 7--Orthopedic Surgery Edition

Or:

A Place-Holder Host, While I Contemplate The Ramifications Of The Official Daughter's Misstep While Walking From Her Car To The Front Door Friday Evening After Returning Home Following A Cross Country Meet, Which Misstep Awakened Me At About 11:30 PM To Gaze With Rapt Paternal Attention At The Protruding Bone, Which Reminded Me Of That Volcano In Mexico Which Appeared Out Of Nowhere And Which Misstep May Have An Effect On Her Nascent Pole Vault Career--Not Because She'd Defended The House From A Gang Of Meth-Crazed Bikers, Or Because She'd Rushed Into A Burning Building To Save a Litter Of Newborn Beagle Puppies, Or Because She'd Pushed A Nun Out Of The Way Of A Run Away Freight Train Or Because She'd Rescued A Battalion Of Marines From An Otherwise Hopeless Firefight In Guadalcanal, But Because She Felt Compelled, And Lord Knows Why, To Do A Flippen Pirouette On The Driveway--, Which, In Turn, Resulted In A Late-Night Trip To The Emergency Room So That I Could Get Home After 2:00 AM, Only To Get Up At 6:30 AM To Take The Official Sons To A Soccer Game, (A 3-1 Defeat, The Only Bright Spot Being The Official Elder Son's Single Goal Off The Keeper's Face, Thank You ), And Thereby Today Necessitating That I Toss Myself Into The Loving, If Expensive, Arms Of A Specialist:

Broken Collar Bone

Oy.

R. Sherman

Free Stuff (More or Less)

I've finally surrendered to the EMBLOS' oft-spoken desires that I downsize the amount of outdoor stuff I've accumulated over the years. Consequently, after several days of agonizing, including deep philosophical musing about potential scenarios where a given piece of gear might come in handy, i.e. Tsumani, Zombie Apocalypse, etc., I've managed to put together a few things with which I, albeit reluctantly, can part.

Having accumulated this "stuff," as the EMBLOS so crassly calls it, I had to determine how to part company with it. Frankly, there are a few memories, both good and bad, associated with these items, and selling them seemed to be too tawdry a course of action. After all, these things are not merely pieces of nylon, aluminum and paper. Nay, they are my friends.

Consequently, I've decided to give them away to people who might appreciate them as much as I do. I've got several tents of various sizes (1-4 people), including North Face and Mountain Hardware 3 season, as well as child-size backpacks which my kids have outgrown together with some duplicate maps of different areas around the country. Every thing is gently, gently used and well-cared for. If you're interested, e-mail me, and I'll shoot you a list.

I only have three requests: the first, is that you limit yourself to no more than one item in any category; second, you agree not to resell the stuff, because I'm giving it away; and third, you reimburse me for the postage. (I'd be willing to waive the first requirement, if you're soliciting for a charitable group like a Boy/Girl Scout Troop or church youth organization.)

Let me know, and

Cheers.

R. Sherman

Equal Time

The Official Elder Son happened to navigate his way to these pages a day or two ago and noticed the posts here of late have been rather "Official Daughter-centric." Thus, to provide him with the assurance that, yes, indeed, I love him and his brother just as much, I present the following photographic memories, from a trip to Mexico in 2002. Feel free to be bored, but remember: This was the kid who, at age three, sprayed his German grandmother with a hose, waited for her to go inside to change her wet clothes, then hit her again as she walked out the door, thereby moistening up the carpet in the living room of the brand new house, of which we'd taken possession not ten days before.

Forewarned is forearmed, as they say.

Post Snorkle. Actually, He Just Stuck His Head In The Water, But What The Heck.

With The OD At The Mayan Ruins In Tulu'um.

The Official Brood

Cheers, all.

R. Sherman

A Desert Fix

U.S. 50 Running Straight As An Arrow Into The Great Basin

I happen to be rearranging some of my outdoor stuff this past weekend, and I stumbled across a few maps and such of the Desert Southwest. I'm in dire need of a road trip, but my schedule is such, that it doesn't appear doable, for the foreseeable future.

Oy.

Anyway, I wound up pulling out a few boxes of old photos and rediscovered a few from a road trip a few years back to eastern Nevada, via Monument Valley and Southern Utah. Thus, I get to bore you, dear readers, with my vacation pics.

First up, Monument Valley along the Arizona-Utah State Lines:





Next, a few photos taken while driving U.S. Highway 50 in western Utah and eastern Nevada. Known as "The Loneliest Road In America," U.S. 50 is the route to drive if you find yourself constantly singing the old tune, "Don't Fence Me In."







Have a good day, all.

Cheers.

R. Sherman

More On College Choices

Further to this post of a couple of days ago, Edelweiss made a comment which I thought was worthy of more discussion. Specifically, with my emphasis:

I will say this: Two of my closest friends here went to Harvard. Both of them hated it and say they would choose to go elsewhere if they had it to do over. That's not to say that such places are bad, just that they don't promise heaven on earth as some of these parents seem to think.

I could not agree more.

I realize that some might read my prior offering and think that I'm merely compensating because my daughter won't be going off to one of these elite institutions. That certainly is a plausible explanation. Nonetheless, because it's impossible to prove the truth of a negative proposition, I'll just say, it's really not sour grapes on my part, but an acknowledgment of certain truths.

The fact of the matter is, as much as we like to believe otherwise, our society is divided into classes along socioeconomic lines. While it's certainly possible to move a few rungs up the ladder, and indeed, most of us are fortunate to do so, it's nonetheless foolish to think that by spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to send a kid to Harvard or Yale, one will somehow guarantee his/her admission into the sanctum sanctorum of the upper crust of society.

Ain't gonna happen.

This is not to say that hard work and intelligence are not valued at such places, but rather that unless one's last name is "Kennedy" or "Bush," one is never going to fit in. Simply stated, what's valued in such a closed society has really nothing to do with how smart one is.

Second, I wonder how much better, if at all, a liberal arts education is at an Ivy League school as opposed to your average "Directional State University?" It seems to me, in our system of college education, the person obtaining B.A. in history or literature is going to be getting a very broad view of the subject matter. At least, that's the hope. From there, it's off to graduate school. One would think that those basics in these disciplines would tend to be the same across the board.

I suppose there's the issue of the quality of faculty, but as most of us know from our own college experience, the famous faculty are usually off somewhere doing research and are seldom darkening the hallways outside undergraduate classrooms. Frankly, why pay an extra fifty grand a year just to say you were in the same building as a Nobel Laureate?

This is not to say there are no benefits to an Ivy League education. The question is whether those benefits are worth the cost, both monetary or otherwise. For me, I wanted the OD to choose a place where she would be comfortable. After all, it makes no sense to spend a zillion dollars just to be miserable.

Cheers.

R. Sherman